An Argument
by windsinger89
Summary: Barba and Olivia have an argument over whether to try a case that ends in the culmination of heightened emotion...ie sex. ONESHOT. Barson.


ONESHOT.

Contains Sexual Scenes. I wasn't too sure on the rating of this, toying between T and M so read at your own discretion.

Takes place as of S18, ep6. Characters might be a little OOC it depends on how you see them, I personally think that anger is a little OOC but it's still fun to write.

 **Thanks for reading and please do review.**

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He sat there, only half listening, as she paced in front of his desk. He flipped his pen, a gift from the DA, as she threw her arms out by her side, in towards her chest as if her hands were connected to her mouth and one could not move without the other.

He'd heard about her, before he got the job, I mean everyone had. She was the fiery cop, the ball busting detective who had spent the majority of her working life with the worst society had to offer. At first he had relished the challenge; to pit his wits against the best Manhattan had to offer. Over time their relationship had changed, they became partners, both doggedly marching forward to make the world slightly better, one conviction at a time. He had loved their late night talks, scotch catching the light of her office, her arm behind him on the couch, leaning in towards each other.

Then the talks seemed to stop. They threw wounds at each other and hoped that things could stay the same, knowing that it was different; that they were different.

Now the passion he used to love was background noise. She was back to being that blind detective, almost in denial about how the world actually worked. They weren't partners, he wasn't sure they were even friends any more, she treated him like... like he was hers.

Although never one to listen to court room gossip he wasn't immune to the names that flew around the corridors. The whispers about who was sleeping with who, who was taking bribes on the side though no one could prove it. He wasn't deaf to what they called him, once one of the best prosecutors in the City, he had become nothing more than Olivia's Benson's bitch.

He had told her that the Metcalf case could not be won. Told her that as despicable the man was he hadn't broken the law. She didn't listen, never listened. They went to trial, his reputation took a hit, and still she marched on. He came and went at her beck and call. She asked for a warrant and just expected him to jump, that he was her personal DA.

He felt the tell tail signs of anger coil in the pit of his stomach as she continued to talk, not seeming to care that her audience had stopped listening. Maybe she'd just fallen in love with the sound of her own voice. Her trousers clung to her legs as he let his eyes wander. He had looked at her before of course, fugitive glances out of the corner of his eyes, over the top of his paper work, but never as blatantly as this. It was a testament to how caught up she was in her own speech that she didn't notice him staring. Her legs were long and firm and he almost wished that she would turn and walk away just so he could stare at her arse. He had indulged himself in fantasises of her bent over his desk, their height difference immaterial as he stood behind her, leaving finger prints in her skin.

'You have to own the world Rafael' his father used to say, 'or it will own you.' He had let her think she owned him and he wished he could show her she was wrong.

'Well?'

He looked up, blushing slightly that he might have been caught looking. 'Well what?'

She titled her head back in exasperation, before shaking it and sighing angrily. 'Will you try the case?'

'No' he didn't pause, didn't take a breath, just stared in her eyes and answered calmly. He watched as she clenched her teeth and with a shaking control sit down into the chair facing him.

'Rafael...' She was trying for a softer tactic, to appeal to his better nature, but today he didn't want to be better. He wanted to be that prosecutor that made people shake, who never lost a case and who was invited to know everyone worth knowing. She had held him down for long enough.

'No,' he said more firmly, 'I will not traumatise a ten year old girl just because you want justice, just so you can sleep at night.'

'You've never even met her.' Her calm was slipping again.

'She is not credible, she is not ready and I will not waste tax payer's money on your crusade.' Her eyes flashed and he knew he'd crossed a line

'My crusade...'

'Yes,' he interpreted not in the mood to listen to her self-righteousness anymore, 'she is a shaking ten year old girl who has never stood up to anyone in her life, who is traumatised by what that scum did to her but cannot testify that it was him.'

'She knows that...'

'It was dark, it only happened a few times, there a five men living in that house, her mother is pressuring her...shall I go on?'

She had leant back in her chair and he watched as the anger bled from her face, replaced by something he couldn't seem to place, grief maybe.

'Only?' she said quietly as he sat breathing heavily fists clenched on the wood of his desk.

They stared at each other in silence and he was the one who looked away first, speaking quietly to the wood, 'We won't win.'

He felt rather than saw her get up and walk around to his side of the desk, her perfume filling his nose. She leant back beside his chair, 'Maybe we won't win. But that's no reason not to try.'

Her words sunk into his consciousness and he was flattened by a sudden wave of anger. Her body jerked back in shock as he sprung from his seat and brought one hand to fist in the hair at the back of head. She felt his breath on her face as he almost growled.

'I'm tired of trying. I'm sick of you _making_ me try. Forcing you sainthood down my throat and leaving me to face the consequences.' He thrust her away forcing her to throw her hands backwards on the desk to keep her balance. 'You may have been here longer,' he continued, 'but I know the courts. I know when it's worth putting the victim through a trial. Just listen to me,' he was almost shouting now as she sat there in shock at his sudden outburst, 'just fucking listen to me!'

He took a step back, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He had never truly lost his temper with her before and was struggling not to do so now.

'Okay.'

It wasn't the reaction he was expecting, certainly not in such a soft voice.

'Okay Rafael, what do you want to do?'

His mouth went dry, what did he want. What was his anger ultimately about? For all his father's teaching and his own ego he really didn't care what people thought, he didn't care about his own reputation. In that moment, that second, he let himself finally be honest. He wanted her.

Not two steps behind, not from afar watching her with Tucker but her completely his. He wanted her respect, to listen to him and care about what he was saying. He wanted her to take note of him, to be partners again.

Stepping forward he reached out his hand, and though he was less rough than before he wasn't gentle. He pulled at her hair till she lay flat on her back against his desk, legs dangling over the edge. His motions growing quicker he pulled at her belt till the metal was undone and roughly yanked her trousers and pants down not caring to take them the whole way off. Breathing heavily he leant over her and captured her mouth in a kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth.

In this moment he could pretend she was his. Not tuckers, not Noah's, not the squads, not even the victims but his. Everyone had always chosen someone else, Elena, Eddie, his father but not now. They were partners, they were equals and she was going to let him take charge, let him hold her, have her.

He broke away to look down into her eyes that for once, looking at him, only spoke of love, needing to know that she wanted it. He marvelled that their argument could be forgotten so quickly, thought that perhaps part of her wanted this as much as he did and this was why she hadn't struggled, hadn't tried to stop him. Without him having to say a word she brought her hand up and cupped the side of his face, 'squabbling till we're old and grey, remember?'

He kissed her again and this time he felt her respond, felt her tongue duel with his and her hands run through his hair and fumble with his fly.

When the buttons weren't coming undone quick enough he reached down himself and pushed his trousers and briefs down to his knees, feeling her hair tickle the skin of his stomach. Without waiting he brought himself to her entrance and pushed in. He felt her cry out into his mouth and her back arch against him. He knew he hadn't given her time to prepare, that the stretch had been uncomfortable and so even though his cock was throbbing he paused until her felt her hips moving, driving him deeper inside her.

He wasn't gentle, every thrust was hard and he pushed her back down against the wood. He could hear her panting and moaning and some part of him knew he must be hurting her, cared that he was hurting her, and yet her legs locked around his back and she pulled him in closer, her hips rising to meet his even though she was panting in pain. He would love her later. If she would let him he would spend forever learning every curve of her body, kissing every dimple and bringing her to the edge over and over again but now he just had to take her. His hips began to move faster and harder and her hand that had moved to his hair gripped it so tight it hurt. He was thankful that his whole body was resting down on her hers because he wasn't sure he would be able to stand through what he knew would be the most powerful orgasm he'd had in a long time. She used her grip in his hair to pull him into a kiss. Her mouth was wet and hungry and yet she held back, she nipped at his lower lip and licked it gently but never forced herself inside his mouth. She seemed to know that he needed to take charge, that he was the one who needed to feel in control. She spent her time with a squad who wanted to help, with people who spent every waking minute fighting against the horror they saw every day, but him. He was left in the courts, left in the company of defence lawyers who would sell their own mother. Of judges who cared more for how things looked than how things should be, of juries who would not believe a little girl when she told them her father had raped her every night for two weeks. He was tired of bringing cases he could not win, not because they were not right, but because of how the system worked. Tired of always having to be the bad guy to the saintly Olivia Benson. He just wanted her to know that it still hurt, every no, every plea deal, every not guilty hurt him as much as her.

As he grew painfully hard and the throbbing between his legs went beyond the point of return he knew that she understood. Knew that for all her fire and passion she understood that he cared, that she didn't view him as hers, but belonging instead to the victims. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth and silenced her panting as his hips moved harder. He was so close, and she was so tight that he didn't even try to hold back. A small part of him was almost ashamed that in his first time with her he hadn't made her finish but he promised himself that later he would. Later she would be screaming still her voice gave out. He broke off their kiss to bite down on her neck, muffling his groan, as his cock twitched inside her and his hips tried to push himself deeper. It was a long time before he regained the use of his limbs and on shaky arms pushed himself off her chest. His breathing was ragged and matched hers even though she was smiling. He was still inside her and if he had his way would never move even though, for his previous words, they had a case to try.

He didn't know what they were, what this meant or would be become. He just knew that in this moment she was his, and for all his anger for all his puffed up pride and ego, he was hers. They were a team, and smiling down at her, kissing her lightly, he vowed never to forget that again.


End file.
